His Sammy
by Mr. JRyan
Summary: Sam could never leave well enough alone. Post AHBL. Warnings: character death, a bit of evil!Sam.


**Disclaimer**: I do not receive any profit for my fanfictions, nor do I own Supernatural or Sam and Dean Winchester. It's the sad, sad truth… but writing fanfictions and playing with the boys for a little while cheers me up!

**Title**: His Sammy

**Status**: One Shot/Complete

**Setting**: A few months after AHBL.

**Summary**: Sam could never leave well enough alone.

**Author's Note**: This idea was nagging at me, so I had to put it into words.

**Warnings**: character death; slightly evil!sam; probably a bit of ooc-ness on Dean's part

-.-.-.-

"What do you mean, I'll die?"

Dean groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he paced back and forth in their motel room. Sam sat on one of the dingy beds, looking up at Dean with an expression of pure confusion. The older Winchester couldn't believe they were talking about this. Yeah, sure, Sam had sworn to get Dean out of the deal, but after a few months and countless failed attempts, Dean was tired of it. He was tired of hoping. He was tired of being afraid.

"She said that if I try to weasel my way out of the deal, then you'll die. You'll drop dead on the spot. So, god damnit, Sam, stop searching!" Dean turned towards his brother, who didn't seem to be listening. He was stuck in his own little 'Sammy world' as he stared at the floor. God, Dean hated that world. Nothing good ever came of it. "Sam, are you listening to me?"

"Maybe… Maybe it's for the best," Sam said quietly, looking up at Dean slowly.

Dean raised his eyebrows, sure that he hadn't heard his brother right. No, of course he hadn't. Sam wouldn't want to die. This was _Sam_ they were talking about. He was a stubborn little bitch, that was for sure. Then again, that wasn't always a good thing. "Excuse me?"

"Dean, I wasn't supposed to live! You brought me back from the dead, man. _You're_ the one who's supposed to have a future. Not me," Sam said from his spot on the bed, shrugging. "At least if I were gone, I'd be with Mom. But you? You'd be in hell. You can't say that you want that."

"Of course I don't!" Dean yelled, running a hand through his hair. "But it's better that I'm down there with you alive than me alive and you…" He stopped there and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Dean—"

"I can't lose you again, Sammy. I refuse to. You don't understand, okay? So just… just drop it." Dean shook his head and started towards the bathroom. He didn't want to talk about this. He _couldn't_. Dean didn't care what happened to him in nine months. It'd all be worth it if Sam were okay. That'd make everything worth it.

"You think I don't understand?" Sam asked, his voice raising ever so slightly as he stood up from the bed. When Dean didn't respond, Sam stormed over to him and grabbed his brother's arm, spinning him around. "I've had to deal with you almost dying tons of times, Dean. Too many times. Like before I took you to the faith healer and when you almost died after that crash… Dean, I know what you mean, okay? I've stood there, in the hospital, with doctors telling me that there was nothing they could do for you. That you were going to die. I know what it's like to have your heart wrenched out of you because your brother isn't going to live. Not by any natural means, at least. I know the pain. I know the grief. I know the longing for something to come along and help you out because you can't possibly make everything better yourself. So don't stand there and tell me I don't understand. _I do understand._ More than I'd like to. And I refuse to have to go through that again, Dean. I refuse."

"Well, so do I!" Dean yelled back. "I refused to have you dead in my arms again! I refuse to watch the light go out in your eyes and then have to carry your lifeless body back to the car, all the while hoping that your heart will start breathing again and that I'll be able to talk to you again and…" Dean broke off as tears sprouted in his eyes. He turned from Sam, not wanting his brother to see that he was on the verge of crying. His voice was soft as he spoke next. "I refuse to go through that again, too."

Sam sighed and nodded, walking back over to his bed. He sat down and looked up at Dean, who was composing himself. "Then what do we do? You can't have me die, Dean, but… I can't have you die, either."

Dean shook his head and slowly turned back to his brother, shrugging. "I don't know. It has to be one of us. And I'm the older brother. It's my job to protect you. So I'm the one going down, Sam. There's no other way."

Sam had his stubborn expression on his face again. One that Dean had come accustomed to seeing lately. It wasn't anything new. But it scared the shit out of Dean. Each time Sam looked like that was another minute he could find something, and die. This wasn't any different. "I'm going to _find_ a way, Dean. Believe me, I'm going to find a way."

-.-.-.-

"Sam, Sam, Sam. I already told you. Dean's contract is binding. There's no chance in hell you can save him," the crossroads demon said, snickering at her own little pun. Sam, on the other hand, didn't find it so amusing.

The tall man towered over her, and his eyes showed anger, resentment… evil. He grabbed her arm tightly, and made a noise that sounded strangely like a growl. "You're going to let my brother free. Do you hear me? You're going to let him free."

The demon glared down at Sam's hand on her arm, and looked up into his fierce eyes with some hatred of her own. Suddenly her lips curved into a small smirk as an idea started forming in her head. "Well, there is _one_ way…"

-.-.-.-

Sam sat in a restaurant with his brother, enjoying some fine french toast as Dean scarfed down the last of his triple-decker burger with cheese and extra onions. It wasn't a sight for the weak-stomached, that was for sure. But, it was nice. They were enjoying a meal together. One that wasn't take out or fast food. It was like things were normal between the two. Well, normal for a Winchester. If only Dean knew…

But he wouldn't know. Not until it was too late. Sam was sure of that.

"Dude, you're going to choke," Sam said, raising his eyebrows as he stared at his brother, who had made a complete mess of both himself _and_ the table.

Dean looked up at him from his burger, a small grin on his face. His mouth was full of food, and while he tried to say something, it only came out as a mumble as pieces of meat flew onto the table.

Sam made a face and pulled his plate towards himself, not wanting any of the offending meat to come into contact with his food. "How can you eat that, anyway? It's ten in the morning!" He rolled his eyes as Dean just grinned at him.

As Sam looked around at the people in the booths surrounding theirs, he couldn't help but let a pang of regret slip past. They all looked so normal. So happy. Why couldn't they have that? Why couldn't the Winchesters be like anyone else out there? After all they did, didn't they deserve a bit of happiness? No, of course not. If you were a hunter, happiness wasn't allowed. You risked your life day after day protecting others, and all you got for it was a crap shoot. You died. Your friends died. Your family died. That's all you ever got. When you were a hunter, your reward was pain. Always pain.

"Sammy?"

Sam quickly looked at Dean, who was staring at him with concern. Something had been off with Sam all day. Ever since he had gone to the library the day before. And, really, Dean didn't even believe that's where Sam went. It was just some bullshit story that Sam made up to save his ass. Dean knew that. He had pestered Sam about it when he got back to the motel, asked why he was gone for so many god damn hours, but he always got the same response, no matter how many times he tried. _I went to the library. Because, whether you like it or not, I'm going to save you. Blah blah blah. Blah blah._ It pretty much sounded the same after that.

"Yeah, what?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked over at his brother.

Dean's expression of concern was quickly masked, and he let a small grin spread across his lips as he looked over at a hot waitress who was quickly clearing off a table. "Did something catch your eye there, tiger?" Sam didn't say anything, just rolled his eyes and continued eating.

As Sam looked back down at his food, Dean allowed his grin to slip from his face, a frown quickly taking his place. What was with Sam lately?

-.-.-.-

Dean swallowed hard as he looked around the motel room that night. The sound of the door closing had awoken him from his peaceful slumber. Sam was gone. Sam had gone from the motel. At—Dean quickly looked at the clock—2:16 in the morning. What, was he crazy? Dean quickly threw his covers off of him and stood up, practically running from the room as he slammed open the door. And there he was.

There Sam was. Falling to the ground. Lifeless.

In two seconds Dean was at his brother's side, checking for a pulse, seeing if he was breathing, hoping to a God that he didn't really believe in that Sam was okay. That this was a nightmare and that Sam was going to be okay. This was _his Sammy_. His baby brother. The guy that he had pulled out of the fire, not once, but _twice_. The guy Dean had risked everything for. The person that he couldn't live without, no matter what. No matter what the future held. Kids, wives, whatever. They'd mean nothing without Sam. Life meant nothing without Sam.

But he wasn't moving. Sam wasn't moving. Sam was lifeless. Sam was now a lifeless sack of meat, laying on the pavement outside of a two-bit motel. Sam was d—… No. Sam wasn't. Sam couldn't be. Not again. Not like this. Not when Dean had worked so _fucking_ hard to pull all the pieces back together so Sammy, _his Sammy_, could live again. Could have a normal life. Could have a future and be a lawyer and marry the woman of his dreams. Sam couldn't be d—… It wasn't possible. No, no, no…

"Sammy!" Dean screamed out, shaking his little brother a little bit. As he looked around so he could scream for help, he found no one. No one to help him. No one to help _his Sammy_. No one that could fix this. Dean had already fixed this once. He couldn't fix it again. Not again. It wasn't possible.

So he did the only thing he could think of. CPR.

_One, two, three, four, five._ Dean breathed into Sam's mouth. _One, two, three, four, five._ "Come on, Sammy, god damnit!" Once again, Dean tilted Sam's head back and attempted to breath for his little brother. _One_—"Come on, Sammy, don't do this to me!"—_two_—"Breath, Sam!"—_three_—"Not again, please, _please_ not again…"—_four_—"I played by your rules! I didn't weasel my way out if it! Bring him back, damnit!"—_five_—"Bring him back, _now_!" _One, two, three, four, five._ "You little bitch, how could you do this to me?!" _One, two, three, four five._ "I hate you, Sam. I hate you!" _One, two, three, four, five._ "SAM!"

Dean fell back, as tears started streaming down his face. There Sam was. Lying on the ground. Not moving. Not breathing. Not making fun of Dean for acting like a pansy ass little girl. He was just _laying_ there. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd just think that Sam was sleeping. Yeah, that's it. That's all he was doing. He was sleeping. Sam hadn't gotten any good sleep since he found out Dean was going to die. He just needed a little time to rest, that's all… That's it. Just for a little while. Dean could give him a little time to sleep, right?

Slowly climbing to his feet, Dean grabbed Sam's body, hoisting it up off the ground and carrying it across the parking lot with effort. Sam was just sleeping. Sam couldn't sleep outside. It was too cold. To wet. It had rained earlier, it was going to rain again. Sam couldn't sleep in the rain. No, Sam had to sleep in his bed. In the morning it'd all be better. In the morning he'd be awake. Dean didn't have to worry. Sammy just needed to sleep, that's all. Just for a little while. That's all. Just sleep.

Dean carried Sam into the room, and set him down on the bed, tears still falling form his eyes. He ran a hand through _his Sammy's_ hair, choking back a small sob. _He's just sleeping, Dean. That's all. He just needs to sleep._ No matter how many times to tried to tell himself, he knew it wasn't true. Sam wasn't asleep. Sam wasn't going to wake up.

"Please, Sammy… don't do this to me…" Dean begged softly, grabbing his little brother's hand and pulling it close to himself. "Not again, Sam. We talked about this. I can't lose you again. I can't… You can't…" Dean fell backwards onto the floor with a small 'thud,' tears running down his face as sobs started to wrack his body. He was shaking violently now, he couldn't help it. _His Sammy_.

Sammy had always been his. Everyone knew that. They didn't judge it, they didn't question in. It was just fact. It was just a simple fact of life. Dean Winchester always took care of his brother. He always kept him safe. He always kept him out of harm's way. But he couldn't this time. Maybe people were wrong. Dean couldn't help Sam. Not anymore. No one could help Sam. Because Sam was d—. No. God, no. This couldn't be happening. Not again. Not to Sam…

"Take me, you evil bastard!" Dean yelled out, looking up at the ceiling, as if some deity could hear him and would take pity on his poor, tortured soul. "Not Sam! I was meant to die over a year ago! I'm not supposed to be here! You can't take Sam! He never… He never did anything wrong… Sammy's a good boy. Sammy's… _Sammy_…" Suddenly Dean sat up from his spot on the floor and grabbed the closet thing to him, a remote, and threw it across the room. "Screw you! Screw all of you mother fucking _assholes_!"

"Now, now, Dean. That isn't very nice, is it?"

Dean looked over at the doorway, where a man was standing. A man with black eyes. A possessed man. It was his fault. His fault that Sammy was d—. _His Sammy._

"Who the _fuck_ are you?!" Dean yelled, before he grabbed his shot gun, aiming it at the piece of demonic trash that was standing in front of him. The demon only chuckled at this, which just pissed Dean off even more.

"You don't want to know, boy. Trust me." The demon leaned against the doorframe, seeming unfazed by the gun being pointed at him. "I'm here for Sam."

"You can't have him," Dean growled, glaring at the son of a bitch. "You can't have him so you can go back to hell, bitch. Sammy's _mine_."

The demon laughed; a laugh that was so full of pure evil that it made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand up. "Not anymore, Dean-o. You see, little Sammy made a deal. Saved your life. Broke your contract. For his soul."

Realization dawned on Dean, and he looked back at Sam. If the boy were alive, Dean would punch him. The older Winchester looked back at the demon. "He didn't—"

"Oh, no, not quite." The demon walked further into the room, close to Sam. Dean immediately blocked his path, before firing the gun at him. The demon merely looked down at the wound, which was now sporting a good deal amount of blood, and smirked, before looking back at Sam. "Come on, Sam. Wake up. It's time. Wake up."

The worst and best thing happened to Dean right then. Sam took in a gasp of air, sitting up in the bed. Forgetting about the stupid, mother fucking demon, Dean dropped his gun and rushed to his brother's side. "Sammy…"

That's when he noticed it.

Sam's eyes were black.

Dean stumbled back a bit, caught of guard. "Oh god, Sam…" What did he do? What the hell did Sam do this time? Oh god. Oh god no.

"You see, Sam signed himself over to our side. He agreed to tap into his _inner demon_, if you will. To save you, Dean. He just had to be reborn first. You poor thing. You actually thought he died." The demon laughed, motioning for Sam to come to him.

Dean watched in horror as his brother stood up from the bed and walked over to the demon, standing next to him. Their eyes met, and Sam actually looked a little sorry. "This way, neither of us has to die, Dean. We're both free."

And then everything went black. When Dean awoke, Sam was gone. _His Sammy._ Gone.


End file.
